Good Enough
by HalfBloodDeviant
Summary: Rick's birthday is almost over, but there are still gifts to unwrap. Kinky Rickyl slash.


It was Beth who decided they should make an attempt to celebrate birthdays after they had all gotten settled.

"No one's guaranteed the next year anymore," she'd said. "Don't you think we should be grateful when we make it through one more? Celebrate or somethin'?"

Enough of them had agreed that she'd dutifully created a calendar, made her best guess at what day it was currently, and marked it with everyone's birthdays. Rick realized with a small pang that he didn't know when Judith's was and that he never truly would.

But she'd marked Rick's down on February 18 and put the calendar up where everyone could see.

Presents were a mix of hand-made goods and odds and ends picked up and stuffed away while on runs. On his birthday, Daryl had gotten hand-knitted socks, a slew of drawings from the kids, and an old issue of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition.

Rick wondered who'd gotten him the last gift, if they were one of the people who didn't know Daryl and Rick spent a lot more nights together than apart, or if they were making a subtle jab—they hadn't put their name on their gift. Daryl had grunted his thanks anyway, ate a stale wrapped snack cake forced on him by Beth, and slinked outside to hunt rabbits or whatever it was men like Daryl did on their birthdays.

Rick pretended he didn't see Daryl slip the magazine to Carl later. It's not like any of the girls were actually naked at any rate.

Rick's birthday came a little over a month later. More socks, more drawings, and a grainy Polaroid picture of Carl and Judith. It'd been Carl's idea, and Glenn had been nice enough to give up one of the last pieces of film he had. They were out of stale snack cakes, but someone had found a pack of blueberry muffins—just add water!—and Maggie insisted muffins were just breakfast cupcakes anyway. Good enough. All they could expect these days was "good enough."

Rick spent the rest of his birthday with with Judith on his knee, watching Daryl clean guns on the other side of the room. He could feel the hunter's eyes on him even though he couldn't seem to catch him looking, but Daryl was already his. He didn't need to see to know that.

"I got you something," Daryl said, sneaking into Rick's cell late at night after the moon had already risen high, casting bar-shaped shadows on the walls. He was timid about it, like getting Rick a present was somehow an intrusion.

He slid it into Rick's hand, closing Rick's fingers around it, too embarrassed to be the one to reveal what it was. Rick opened up his hand. Inside was a stone arrowhead on a piece of black cord.

"Where'd you find it?"

Daryl trudged all through the Georgia countryside, through creek beds and puddles, through brambles and vines. It was easy to imagine him finding one somewhere, his keen eye picking it out where no one else would.

"Made it."

Rick stared at it where it sat in his palm. Daryl had made him a present. Not only that, he'd given him something symbolic of himself. An arrow—a piece of Daryl that Rick could keep on him no matter what happened. He must have stared too long.

"It's stupid," Daryl said. But it wasn't stupid. It was perfect.

"No, it's not." _It's definitely not_.

Rick worked his head through the opening of the cord, letting the arrow hang down his chest. He wondered if Daryl made the string that length on purpose, if he'd realized the arrow would hang right over Rick's heart. Either way, the hunter was a lot more sentimental than anyone else would ever know or give him credit for.

Daryl sighed, relieved that Rick liked the gift. He sank down onto Rick's bed. Something crunched and squished underneath him.

"The hell's that?" he asked, jumping up. But Rick was just as confused as he was. Someone had stuffed something under the bunched up pile of blankets on Rick's bunk. Rick hadn't even noticed yet.

Daryl ferreted it out, digging through the fabric, pulling out a slightly-smashed box wrapped in yellowed classified ads.

"Open alone. Use with a friend," Daryl read, tilting the box back and forth so the words caught the moonlight, leaving out the little winky face drawn at the end. He tossed it lightly onto Rick's lap. "Guess you got another present. 'Open alone.' Should I go?"

"It also says to 'use with a friend.' You may as well stay." Rick pulled open the paper and pulled the box out. It was a shoe box that had clearly been battered long before Daryl sat on it. Rick could just make out the telltale swoosh of a Nike logo crawling up the side.

The box was taped closed with enough clear packing tape to wrap an ocean liner. Daryl offered up his knife before Rick could reach for his own.

"Here goes nothin'" Rick flipped the top open and dumped the contents on the bed. He and Daryl took stock, staring at each item one-by-one. Rick's pulse raced a little more with each discovery.

"Well," Daryl said, sarcasm edging his voice, "I can see why it told you to open it alone." He reached for an unused bottle of lube on the bed and picked it up, turning it over in his hand like it held some secret, like its use went deeper than sex.

Rick had that same feeling he'd had before. Daryl was watching him. Waiting to see which item he'd pick up first. Daryl had taken away the only safe route with the lube. All the other things spread on the bed were varying degrees of kinky.

Rick reached for a leather collar. It was the tamest thing there.

"This has Glenn and Maggie written all over it," the hunter growled. "Damn meddlin' lovebirds." He was right. At least Rick knew why their last run had taken so long. He'd just assumed they'd shacked up somewhere. Apparently they were searching for sex shops.

"You wanna try it on?" Rick teased.

Daryl shifted. It was almost the same posture he'd had when he'd first come in with his present, similar but slightly different. Rick recognized it easily. He wanted it, badly, but he didn't want Rick to think he wanted it unless Rick wanted it too.

"What's this for?" Daryl picked up another item from the bunch, this one similar to the leather collar, the circle broken by a small orange ball. He gave the ball an experimental squeeze.

Rick opened his mouth to explain, but then stopped. Where was the fun in a straight answer? Where was the fun in a straight anything?

He gently pulled the thing out of Daryl's hand and rotated his finger. Daryl swallowed once, but he did it, shifting around. It reminded him briefly of every time a girl had ever asked him to clasp a necklace for her.

But this was far less delicate than some heart on a dainty silver chain.

Rick pulled the ball roughly into Daryl's mouth and buckled the thing behind his head, careful not to catch any of his hair in it.

Daryl mumbled something that sounded vaguely like "The hell?" Rick watched a line of spit dribble onto Daryl's pant leg. If he hadn't already been turned on, that would've done it.

"You want it off?"

Daryl was still for a moment, and then he gave his head a single shake. Rick pulled the leather collar around his neck, gave it a rough tug. Daryl moaned quietly.

The ghost of a smile curled the corner of Rick's mouth. What seemed like a thousand encounters played through his head. The first time he'd fucked Daryl, it had been tentative and gentle. He'd been too afraid to scare him off. Daryl had felt like a Jenga tower near the end of the game, and he was too afraid he'd knock it over to do anything beyond vanilla. Things had gotten bolder as he learned to recognize cues, as he realized more and more that Daryl was a creature starving for dominance. Last time had been face to face, Daryl beneath him, his wrists belted together and pinned above his head, a dubiously clean bandanna shoved in his mouth. Rick had fucked him until he felt Daryl cum all over his stomach. And then he'd paid him back in kind.

Rick had also discovered that the dominance Daryl craved wasn't just physical.

"Kinky fuck," he muttered right in Daryl's ear. Daryl's shoulders twitched with his hitched breath. There had been times when he told Daryl he'd stop if he wanted him to, times when he'd even tell him what to do or say if he wanted it over. But that trust had already been built. The need to say it was gone. Daryl knew Rick would understand if he wanted him to stop, even without words. And Rick knew he never wanted him to stop. Ever.

Rick spun him back around.

"I don't guess I really thought this through." Now that he was face to face with Daryl's hungry eyes, he wanted to kiss him terribly. But the image of Daryl's lips stretched around the gag, drool sliding out around the edges, was too perfect. He settled for nipping along his jaw instead. Daryl tilted his head back a little to give him more room. Rick kissed his throat above his Adam's apple before he started pushing the vest off Daryl's shoulders.

He started to lay the vest on the floor next to him. It was the only thing that always got put down, not tossed. But today seemed like a day to do things Rick had always wanted to do. And Rick had always wanted Daryl naked in nothing but that vest. He set it on the bed next him instead, letting it temporarily obscure the rest of what had been in the box while he worked on Daryl's buttons.

"I want you to put it back on," Rick said, sliding off the bed and between Daryl's legs. By the time he looked back up, he was facing Daryl, shirtless save the vest, chin, neck, and chest wet with saliva.

He unbuttoned Daryl's jeans and worked the zipper down, listening to Daryl's breath become more ragged with anticipation. Usually Daryl went down on Rick and not the other way around.

"Hands behind your back," Rick said, a phrase he'd said hundreds of times in the before world, but never like this. He clutched around on the bed until he found a pair leather cuffs and reached behind Daryl to buckle them. Then, Rick leaned back slightly to admire his handiwork. He decided he really liked what having his arms behind his back did for Daryl's shoulders. He decided the vest idea had been worth it. He decided this was a way better birthday meal than just-add-water muffins.

Rick pressed his mouth to the bulge in Daryl's half-undone jeans, working it slowly along his denim-hidden shaft. Daryl mmph'd around the gag, his hips raising up a little as he tried to press his erection into Rick's mouth.

The officer looked Daryl dead in the eyes as he worked the jeans down his legs. He wondered how much drool he could get out of that mouth tonight. It made his stomach do a filthy little flip-flop to think about it.

He kept his eyes on the other man as he ran his tongue up the shaft, and then he took as much of it into his mouth as he could, grateful for the little rubber ball that muffled Daryl's groan.

Rick had never given much thought to the process of sucking cock before doing it with Daryl. Sure, he'd thought about it. Back in the days of hurriedly-cleared internet history, he'd watched more guys do it than he could even remember, but he'd never really _thought_ about it.

In some ways it was easy. Rick knew what it felt like when people put their tongue _there_, when they twisted their head like _that, _when they cupped his balls right as they did _this. _But in other ways, it wasn't easy at all. The truth was that Daryl had a reason for wearing baggy jeans, and Rick had a reason for never offering himself to Daryl, even just as an experiment. He always choked. His eyes always watered. And his jaw started to cramp if he went too long.

Then again, he'd always liked that part in the videos. He wondered if Daryl did too as a stray tear rolled down one of his cheeks. He pulled off with a slight pop. Daryl growled a little in his throat, frustrated that he'd stopped, but Rick yanked Daryl's jeans off the rest of the way, tossing them unceremoniously toward the opposite wall and he went quiet again.

The hunter's eyebrow flicked up. _How do you want me? _

Rick's eyes raked over him... the taut, muscular arms trapped behind his body; the vast expanse of pale skin left exposed in the opening of the vest; the collar; the gag. Rick shoved Daryl onto his back. He was too pretty to take from behind tonight.

Daryl's face immediately betrayed discomfort. Rick pulled some of the other items from the sex box out from underneath him where they'd been digging into his back, and set them within reach. He wasn't entirely sure he wouldn't still use them. Daryl's eyes watched, realizing what it meant that he hadn't thrown them aside. He looked at Rick. His eyes said, _yes, please._

"You're filthy," Rick said quietly. _I love you, _he didn't say at all. Couldn't say. That one felt like the Jenga tower all over again. Like it would fundamentally change something, even if it were true. He set that thought aside like the other toys. Maybe he'd use it later too. Then he unhooked his gun belt, unlatching all the little leather loops that helped hold it up. He let it all drop to the floor in a heap. The rest of his clothes followed save for the arrow necklace, which he had decided was never coming off.

Daryl shifted again. He was uncomfortable with his arms trapped behind his back. Rick nodded in understanding . He reached behind and undid one of the cuffs briefly before pulling it around one of the bunk's supporting bars and refastening it. It didn't make Daryl's shoulders look as delicious as they had the other way, but Rick wasn't complaining at seeing him laid out like that. Some voice in the back of his head growled possessively, _mine_ .

He found the bottle of lube tucked under Daryl's bare thigh, the plastic warm from contact with his skin. It took just a little to slick him up from shaft to tip. He stroked a couple times for Daryl's benefit, enjoyed the way his lust-fueled eyes watched.

He worked the hunter open, the only part of the ir encounters that was ever slow and careful these days. Even though it had gotten progressively easier with experience. Even though Daryl had never complained, he still didn't want to hurt him.

To Rick, this part had always seemed like the eye of the storm. It was a perfect little window of calm sandwiched in between frenzy and more frenzy.

Rick groaned low. If he ever found out for sure who left the box, he was going to kiss them. After weeks surviving on stolen cap-fulls of olive oil from the kitchen, the lube was like having sex for the first time all over again. No more skimping and trying to make it work on almost nothing. Daryl must have felt it too. He shifted to push Rick in deeper.

Sure enough, the minute he was fully inside, the storm rampaged anew. He grabbed Daryl's hips, squeezing tight, the skin around his fingertips whitening. He used his grip to pull Daryl into each thrust. It was near- frantic with need now that everything was finally good and properly wet, and it was damn good.

Daryl's eyes lolled in his head. A river ran from one side of his mouth down his cheek, soaking into his hair and puddling on the prison mattress.

Rick let go of his hips. He mopped the spit on Daryl's cheek up and added some of his own before firmly grasping the other man's cock, working it in long, frantic strokes .

Daryl practically whined around the gag, his hips bucking slightly under Rick's. Stroke, thrust, stroke thrust.

Rick felt release drawing near, felt his breathing growing shallow.

_No. Not yet. _

He pulled out, letting the end move far, far away before he dared to move again. Daryl looked at him, his wide-eyes desperately begging for more, more, more.

"Come here." Rick grabbed the gag and practically ripped it out of his mouth. He let it hang around Daryl's neck, resting against the collar, and then he shoved their lips together violently. Daryl kissed him with more fury than he ever had before. Rick practically came from the implication of it. _Daryl liked it._ He liked being chained up and gagged and fucked like an animal. Goddamn if Rick wasn't gonna do it some more.

He undid one of the cuffs hurriedly. He was about to tell Daryl to turn over, but he didn't have time. Daryl wrapped his arms around him tightly, drawing him back into more crazed kissing. He nipped at Rick's lips with unparallelled hunger, and it took all the strength Rick had to pull away.

"Rick." The unspoken _please _hung in the air, mixing into the sound of barely-caught breaths and a lone coyote howling at the moon somewhere .

"Turn over."

Daryl's eyes darted to the abandoned toys. The corner of Rick's mouth twitched.

"That's right," he said, and Daryl turned over, trembling.

"Which one?" Rick asked. "Pick your pleasure, Dixon."

There were three things left on the bed at this point: a small black whip, the ends splayed out like an octopus with too many tentacles; a large, clear plastic object shaped a bit like a cartoon bomb, which Rick knew from all those videos was meant to go in Daryl's ass; and a small paddle made of leather. He wondered if the person (people if it was who they thought it was ) who left the box had a leather fetish themselves or just thought that's what he and Daryl would be into. Then again, he had asked him to put the vest back on.

Daryl's fingertips gently brushed the handle of the paddle.

Rick picked it up, tested its weight, slapped it on his palm a couple of times.

Weeks ago, he might have asked, _Are you sure? _But he knew Daryl was sure. He wasn't sure yet if he wanted Rick to know he was sure, but he was always, always sure.

Rick gave Daryl's ass an experimental tap. Daryl stopped breathing, holding it, waiting, wanting... It became crystal clear to Rick right then what he himself wanted out of this moment .

"Ask me."

Daryl let out the breath.

"What?"

"I want to hear you say it," Rick said. "Tell me you want it. Ask me. Beg."

"Rick." Another unsaid _please. _It felt a little dangerous making Daryl talk. Not Jenga dangerous, but dangerous .

"The sexiest thing you could do right now is ask."

Another eye in the storm. Still and quiet.

Daryl said something too soft to hear, intentionally muffling it by pressing his face into Rick's pillow.

"What was that?"

"Spank me." It was low and quiet, nervous, embarrassed, but not ashamed. "Spank me and then fuck me," he said. " That sexy enough for ya?" It was a jab, but nothing he seriously meant. Just Daryl doing things on Daryl's terms like always.

"Very." Rick brought the paddle down on his skin. The resounding slap seemed too loud for nighttime in the prison. It should have made him nervous. Instead, it made his pulse quicken with excitement. He did it again.

Daryl bit into his pillow, his face twitching and scrunching with each blow. He might have wondered if he should stop if he couldn't see Daryl's hips grinding into the mattress.

"You get off on this, don't you?" Rick asked. Daryl nodded rapidly. Rick smacked him again. "Me too."  
>He wished there was enough light to see the red spreading across the pale skin of his cheeks. He settled for touching them gently instead and feeling the warmth each little slap had brought there. He abandoned the paddle, letting it fall on top of his gun belt.<p>

Nudging Daryl up onto his knees and elbows, he felt around for the little plastic bottle . More lube, and he was back inside. Daryl buried his face into the pillow, growl-groaning into the fabric. Rick found him again with his hand, working the length of his cock.

Release came hurtling back toward him like a bullet train . He knew it was the same for Daryl. He let go of the other man's cock. Focused on thrusting.

Daryl's breathing shifted the way it always did near the end. Everything was taut, a too-tight string ready to snap. Rick grabbed the back of the collar and pulled. Daryl choked on his last groan, and came in violent little spurts. Rick pulled out, painting the back of Daryl's vest with cum. Then he let go of the collar and rested his weight on Daryl's back until they were both breathing almost normally again.

It was Daryl who shifted the rest of the toys off the bed, who unclasped the other cuff, the collar, and the forgotten gag and dropped them into the box before setting it unceremoniously on the floor next to them. He pulled the vest off too.

"It's colder ' n a witch's tit." It was. But they hadn't noticed until now. He pressed closer to Rick. It took the officer a minute to realize he was trying to snuggle and the comment about the cold had just been an excuse. This was the first time. Usually it was a second of closeness, dressing, and separate ways.

Rick clawed around at their feet until he found his blanket and then he pulled it over both of them, wrapping Daryl up in its warmth . Tentatively, he reached over and smoothed the hunter's hair away from his face. Daryl closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. When Rick stopped, the hunter snuggled into his chest. Rick realized for the first time that Daryl's hair smelled like the woods and Georgia rain.

The Jenga tower loomed, tall and teetering. The "L" word caught on the end of Rick's tongue. It held on, refusing to go any further. _Don't topple it. Don't. _

"Rick," Daryl said softly, his eyes half-closed, the arrow necklace resting next to his nose .

"Yeah?"

"Happy birthday." Rick almost thought he could hear Daryl's own unspoken words hanging in the air, in the blank space that somehow seemed to be left by the way he'd said "birthday." For now, that was good enough.


End file.
